“I ain’t a-pickin’ of him out,” retorted Bell. “If anybody’s doin’ that it’s the Lord, and if He’s marked him out for early death, why, there you are. And anyways, the little mite hasn’t no real home, so to speak. And he’s too bright to grow up. He ought to be tenderly cherished with that bulgin’ forehead, and his speakin’ out so sudden and complete wasn’t natural.” Mrs. Langley was too affected to reply. Bell hastened back to the kitchen, for it was the day before Christmas and she was deep in preparation. Ten minutes passed and a shadow fell across her table. Bell looked up in amazement to see her mistress before her. Mrs. Langley had not left her room for years, and Bell was really frightened. “For the dear sake, Mis’ Langley, you out of your head?” she cried. “No, Bell, but I felt upset. I wish you would come in and sit with me for a little, but you must be quiet. I don’t want you to say a word. You stirred me all up with your chatter about green Christmases.” “But ma’am, I’m makin’ cranberry jell, and I must get this mince pie into the oven for Mr. Langley’s Christmas dinner,” returned Bell. She glanced at her mistress out of the tail of her eye, and, apparently deciding that she could go further with impunity, added: “It’s bad enough as it is, him a-eatin’ of it all alone.” Mrs. Langley flushed. That woman was getting unbearable. “If you pity Mr. Langley, I should like to know what you think of me, Bell Adams?” she cried. “I must not only eat alone but I am forced to remain alone all the time and to suffer constant pain.” “Yes’m, I know,” Bell relented. “’Tis hard, dear knows. And yet, men are different from we women, and sometimes I mistrust they suffer as much from bein’ lonesome as we do from real pain. And then of course he’s been as good as a widower all these years and----” “Bell Adams----” “O, ma’am, you ought not to be standin’ and in this hot kitchin and like a summer day outside and the twenty-fourth day of December. Now why don’t you go into the front room and set a spell and watch the folks go by? They’s a lot of passin’ the day before Christmas, and you can see way to the post office now that the leaves is off. Rusty Miller’s home, they say, and you may see her. You’ll know her by her red hair. Everybody mistrusted she’d come home from college with it done up in a p’siky but it seems she ain’t.” Mrs. Langley was tempted by her suggestion. It didn’t seem as if she could go back to her room and think about green Christmases and that over-bright baby and Mr. Langley’s having been like a widower all these years. Wherefore, when Bell went before and led her to the at once familiar and strange room, she followed and allowed herself to be established comfortably in a big chair before the low window.